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I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and I’m trying to regain my composure when the last voice I want to hear right now pierces the calm of the night. “Madison.”
My heart skips a beat as I turn to find Chase walking toward me, the soft glow from the gala’s lights casting an aura around him as he holds up two champagne flutes. The unease I felt moments ago intensifies, my stomach churning with a nauseating mixture of conflicting emotions.
“What are you doing out here?” I manage to say, my voice betraying a hint of irritation despite my attempts to sound composed.
He approaches slowly, his eyes locked onto mine. “I wanted to talk to you,” he replies, his tone surprisingly solemn.
I act on impulse when he offers me one of the flutes and invites me to clink glasses, following his motions as if I had been waiting for him. My eyes never leave Chase as I pour down half of the champagne in one large swig.
I’m torn between anger and curiosity, my fingers tightening around the award as I take a step back.
“Who says I want to talk to you?” I ask. “I’m waiting for my friend, so if you could—”
He cuts me off, “Oh yes, Max.” A winning smile widens across his face. “Nice guy. He sends his regards.”
I can’t stop my jaw from dropping, which makes him laugh.
“He sent you out here?” I ask in disbelief.
Chase shrugs, pursing his lips, before he responds, “Not exactly. Quite a protective friend you have there, but I managed to convince him to give me a few minutes alone with you. Don’t worry, he made me promise to behave.”
I scoff. “Yeah, as if.”
He seems unfazed by my rebuke, and brings the flute to his lips again, while I do the same. I’m on edge, my emotions warring within me as I struggle to make sense of his presence, his words, and the undeniable attraction that still lingers between us.
“It’s not going to change anything, you know,” I tell him. “Whatever you’re trying to achieve with this, it’s not going to work.”
“You mean you don’t intend to support my cause?” he asks, leaning against the balcony balustrade next to me. He’s closer now, close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating from his body. I’m torn between wanting to distance myself from him and giving in to his intoxicating scent, when a gentle breeze carries a whiff of his aftershave in my direction. Why does he have to be this beguiling?
“Because that would go against the rules, Miss Hailey,” he goes on, placing an odd emphasis on my name. “You heard me on stage, the money is tied to a cause.”
“Oh, I heard you. But I don’t get it, Chase. If you want support for your own charity, why not just funnel your money there directly? Why take this detour?” I want to know.
“Because it looks better,” he says. “Simple as that. Besides the tax benefits, obviously.”
“Sure,” I retort. “And it has nothing to do with what’s been going on between us.”
“I never said that.”
His honesty takes me by surprise—and I’m even more surprised when he inches even closer to me, his arms now touching mine, as he leans into me. The smell of his aftershave, mixed with his natural musk and a hint of champagne hit me as he presses closer.
“So, Max is right,” I manage to utter. “You’re just trying to get into my pants because you think that’ll make me want to sell to you.”
I want to move away from him, but something is holding me back. It’s like I’m being pushed, no, pulled closer to him. He’s magnetic, his pull impossible to withstand.
And his face is so dangerously close to mine when he looks at me now.
“Interesting analysis,” he remarks with a smirk. “What makes you think I’m trying to get into your pants? Do you think I’m flirting with you? Or is that just wishful thinking?”
Shit.
Even in the dark, I’m sure he can see the way my face flushes with treacherous red, confirming his assumption so loudly that there’s no point in me trying to object. He’s right. Just like Max was right.
And in this moment, there’s nothing else I can think about other than the way his lips part as he is about to speak, or the way his intoxicating smell wraps around me when he leans in even closer.
“Finish your drink, Madison.”
The words are barely more than a whisper, but they oscillate all the way down to my core. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I do as I’m told, my eyes never leaving him, while we both empty our glasses. He takes the flute from my hand the moment it leaves my lips and carefully places it on the balustrade. I don’t do anything but watch when he retrieves the award from my hands with the same care, his motions as if in slow-motion when he puts it next to the flutes.
